


Sickness

by Apricots_from_Nara



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Basically Lord English has fucked up Cherub romance feelings for the Handmaid, Biting, Blood, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, F/M, Implied/Referenced Sex, Violence, and he tries to act on them, it does not go well, sort of a sickfic, starts out kinda cute but gets fucked up at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 04:18:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3754255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apricots_from_Nara/pseuds/Apricots_from_Nara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the Handmaid lays ill, Lord English realizes he may like her the only way a Cherub can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sickness

**Author's Note:**

> This story is something... IDK what but its something.
> 
> I did my best to delve into the thoughts of Lord English. It was humorous at first, but it... Changed somehow. Just as the purpose of the story did. At first, it was to be fluff, him taking care of the Handmaid until she was better. But then it became Him realizing that he was much more attached to her then he cared to be.
> 
> In his own little Cherub way at least.

How many weeks back was it that she began to feel ‘off’? 

The Handmaid walked into her room on shaky legs, fresh from another travel into the past. She had not performed well on it, due to her bad health. Her ass had been handed to her by The Disciple.

Stupid cat obsessed bitch.

She flopped on her bed, the fact she was very very sick hitting her full force.

Now the troll remembered. It had been three weeks since she first began feeling sick. That seemed right giving how horrible she felt. Her training in fighting tactics had never left her feeling this sore, tired, and utterly… unwell.

But she hadn’t taken the time to rest. Not a once. The Handmaid couldn’t. Not even now she couldn’t. Her master would be here to berate her for failing her mission. The yelling would turn into a few punches, when would then turn into one of his perverted little romps.

‘Maybe he is away… I may get a chance to rest.’ she thought.

“GIRL!”

The Handmaid groaned, bracing her hands under herself and getting into a sitting position.

“GIRL!” There was a loud bang on the door, “HOW DARE YOU LOOSE TO THAT LITTLE BITCH!”

The troll slid off her bed, not even bothering to pull off the sheets in preparation for what was to come. She just didn’t feel like it.

She staggered to the door, simply opening it to let the demon in. She didn’t even feel like participating in the yelling.

“What went wrong?!” English snapped, grabbing his handmaids upper arms, “How could you loose to her?!” He pushed her way, growing more furious as she simply fell over.

“I just wasn’t up to snuff, master.” the Handmaid said, getting on herself on her hands and knees. It was getting so difficult to move. And it was so cold.

“Not up to snuff?! What does that even mean?!” English snapped. He grabbed her head in his massive hand to lift her back to her feet but he quickly let her go. Her forehead was burning hot.

“What is wrong with you?” He asked, finally noticing her her flushed face and trembling form, “Are you being stimulated by something?”

“Nothing is wrong, master.” the Handmaid said, getting up onto her feet. Her vision began to swim, three weeks of non-stop fighting while ill taking it’s tole. “Lets just… Get the scolding over with.”

She really just wanted to get it all over with. She pressed her hand to his green chest, stroking it in a loving manner. He liked it when she acted like she loved him, so hopefully it would get him to skip the beating. It was getting it difficult to breath.

English shivered, grabbing her shoulders. His neck flushing. “Fine. If you want me that badly we—” he stopped as the female when slack in his grip, her head lolling back and exposing her neck. He shook her, watching as her whole body moved with the action. “Girl? What is it? Stop playing this stupid game.”

No response.

“Girl, this game is not amusing. I played better games with my useless sister.” He let her go, shocked as she simply collapsed onto the floor, limp as a boneless fish. He crouched down, slipping an arm under her shoulders and lifting her. His neck flushed a deeper red. It was like those fanfictions that his sister had written about when one of the stupid kids had been hurt, and their partner had scooped them up.

Scooped them up in concern.

This was not the time to think about that awful garbage that he had done away with years ago.

Awful, smutty garbage.

No! No. He would not think of it. This, he regretted to say, was serious. His handmaid was not faking this.

Not to mention he could bake a cake on her face.

Delicious, sweet cake. With cotton candy decorations on top.

No no! He was the Lord of Time, not a silly cherub child still chained to the fucking wall.

He picked her up, tossing her over his shoulder. There was no way he was carrying her bridal-style. He nudged the door open with his peg leg, stalking down the green hallway to the totem room.

————

“No good lil bastards.”

Stitch was furious. Furious at Eggs and Biscuits obviously. They had yet again had one of their little spats which resulted in the rape of time.

Which resulted in the raping of the boss’s coat.

“I give up on this piece of crap!” Stitch snapped, knocking the mannequin over, “It ain’t nothin’ but a patchwork quilt now!”

He jumped as there was a loud pounding on the door, nearly swallowing the pin he had clutched in his teeth.

“STITCH! OPEN THE DOOR!”

“Fuck.” Stitch pulled off his hat, rubbing his head, “Yeah, yeah boss. I’m comin’!” Stitch trudged tot he door, unlocking it and pulling it open. He looked to the troll slung over English’s shoulder, then to English himself.

“What did ya do to her now?”

“Watch your tongue, old goat. I did nothing to the bitch.” English snapped, stalking into the room, “She fell and refuses to wake up. She is also burning hot.” The demon dumped the handmaid onto Stitch’s work bench.

“Treat ‘er a little more tenderly there, boss.” Stitch said, wincing as the female’s head smacked against the corner of the bench, “Burnin’ hot ya say?” Stitch went over to the Handmaid and rested his hand against her forehead. He then pressed his ear to her chest, ignoring English’s growling.

“Crap. How long has she been like this?”

“It just started.” English said, “Hurry up and set up a totem for her.”

Stitch rubbed his face, going to the door and poking his head out “ Someone get me a bag of frozen peas!” he yelled before going back to the Handmaid, “A totem can’t fix this, boss. She’s come down with somethin’ bad.”

English rose a brow. “Down with something? I don’t have time for this. Speak plainly.”

“The missy is sick.” Stitch said slowly, “Really sick. And I don’t have a clue what it could be. She’s the only fuckin’ troll around here. I don’t know anythin’ ‘bout trolls.”

Matchsticks poked his head in. “You called for some frozen peas?” he asked, looking at the three, his gaze stoping at the Handmaid’s form, “What did the boss do to the lass now?”

“I did nothing to her!” English snapped, taking a step towards him, “If anyone dares question me about what I do with my bitch again I will—”

“Just worried ‘bout her.” Matchsticks said, tossing Stitch the bag of peas, “Someone has to.”

“I take care for her just fine.” English said, “She is well fed, I give her clothes- Why am I even defending myself to you?!”

Stitch rolled his eyes and put the bag on the troll’s forehead, patting her cheek. “Hey, missy, wake up.”

The Handmaid stirred after a few minutes of cheek patting, opening her flashing eyes. “Stitch?” She turned her face away, English’s yelling hurting her head.

“How long have ya been sick?” 

“Three weeks… I think.”

“What? Why didn’t ya stop and rest when it first came on?” Stitch asked, folding his arms over his chest.

“Stop… and rest. That’s funny.” the troll said, “You try and tell him you need a day or two off.”

The felt member rubbed his temple. The girl had a point. If English wanted you to do something, you did it when he told you to. Putting it off even for a legitimate reason was out of the question.

“Boss!”

English stopped his ranting, turing to glare at Stitch. “What?!”

“Take the missy back to her room will ya kindly? She needs strict rest. No fighting, no funny stuff.” Stitch said, “And carry her there properly.”

English growled. “No.”

“The sooner you do it, the sooner she gets better and gets back to doing whatever you want.”

English grumbled, going to the work bench and picking his Handmaid up. He held her to his chest as he backed out of the room. His neck was soon flushing. It was so tender, holding her like this.

How utterly dirty this was. Her hot breath cascading over his chest was a delight, as was how she absently stroked his chest in her fevered delirium. Would it be so wrong to take advantage of this?

Maybe he could get away with a little bit of something.

English entered her chambers, backing into the door and closing it. He adjusted his grip on her, freeing a hand. With that hand he tilted her head back, flicking the bag of frozen peas off her.

“Girl. Open your eyes.”

The handmaid complied, her flashing eyes opening slightly. Her head was killing her and the world was spinning, but she did what he wanted.

His flashing eyes were not helping her headache.

“What?” she asked, grumbling as he grabbed her chin. “Master. Please. I just want to sleep.”

“Silence.” the demon hissed. He lowered his head, his teeth pressing to her lips in a mock kiss. His whole body stiffened. The action was disgusting and erotic all at once. He pulled away, unable to stand anymore. He set her carelessly on the bed.

As he turned to leave she called out to him.

“Stay… Please stay.”

That fever must have been incredibly high.

“Why should I stay?” English asked, leaning over the handmaid, “Give me a reason, girl.”

“If… You stay with me until I get better, maybe wait on me a little…” The handmaid paused, thinking, “I’ll do whatever sick little fetish you want.”

“Make it two.” English tossed back, intrigued.

The Handmaid sighed. She certainly was picking one hell of a person to hang out with her. “Fine. Two.”

English pulled up a stool and sat down. He paused for a moment before grabbing the comforter and pulling it over her. “Go to sleep.”

The handmaid snuggled into her pillow, taking a few moments to get into a comfortable position. Her eyes soon drifted closed, her exhaustion over taking her quickly.

————

English had not been this bored in a long time. Granted, this was not the most boring thing he gone through, but he was still bored.

He looked up as the door opened, Clover slipping in.

“Oh! Boss! Your worried about the Handmaid too?”

If there was a Felt member English could not stand, it was Clover. All he did was dance around and not get killed. True, when English was still young, he had been a decent shield, but now that he was Lord English and not that pathetic little whelp, Clover was truly useless.

“No, she bribed me to stay by her side until she was better.” English’s eye caught the folded paper tucked under Clover’s arm, “What is that? Under your arm?”

“Oh~! It’s a get well card I made for her!” Clover said, trotting up to the Handmaid’s bedside table. He showed English the card, a crude little drawing of all the felt on the front. “I got everyone to sign it. I can add you to the drawing real quick and you can too!”

“No. No. I’m here, so I have no need to do something so stupid.” English hissed, “Even if I wasn’t here, I still wouldn’t do it.”

“Oh… Well, okay. If you change your mind just call me.” Clover set the card on the side table. With a wave to English he left.

English glared at the door, then to the ‘get well’ card. He was not aware his gang was so sentimental. Then again, he didn’t really talk to them. Or really even stay here. He was only here to berate the Handmaid for failing her mission.

Now he was wasting time watching her when he could be popping dream bubbles.

Useless bitch.

He was drawn out of his thoughts when the troll groaned in her sleep. Her cheeks were flushed red again and some sweat was beading on her grey skin.

English sighed, remembering the bag of peas. He grabbed them off the floor, a look of disgust appearing on his face. Not only was it a damned plant, but it was now fully thawed and mushy. Yuck.

“You just… Lay there. I’m getting you another.” He stood and left, regretting that he was doing this for just two perverted favors, “I should be doing all this for about five. This is the epitome of pointless garbage.”

He entered the walk in freezer, grabbing the nearest bag of frozen greenery. Corn. Why did they even have vegetables? Did the other members eat them?

He really needed to ‘hang out’ around the manor more. He knew next to nothing about them. Not that he wanted to. But it would make things run more smoothly.

He opened the green door, scowling when he realized the Handmaid had yet another guest.

“Snowman, what are you doing?”

The carapacian looked up, thought did not look at him, absently petting the Handmaid’s head. “Making sure she is still alive.” she said, “I see you are putting an effort into her care.”

“Of course. She still is of use to me.” English hissed, “I can’t replace her easily.”

Snowman let out a hum, still not looking at the hulking beast. “She told me she was feeling cold. You best handle that.” She stood, and headed for the door.

“And how do I warm her up? I thought she was running a fever.” English snapped.

Snowman gave English a scratch under his chin, her sharp teeth flashing in a sneer. “It’s part of the process.” she said, then patting his chest, “You’ll think of a way.”

Before he could grab her she had already fazed away.

Why had Scratch given her that ability? It was annoying that he could never actually hit her. So what if a star might explode? She was a bitch.

A particularly huge one at that.

English returned to his stool, placing the bag of frozen corn on his handmaid’s head.

She jerked awake, looking up at him through squinted eyes. “Master… I don’t need that. I’m cold.”

“I don’t know what you want me to do about that girl. But you still feel hot to me.” English said.

The Handmaid closed her eyes. She was so cold. She remembered when he carried her to her room. That had been nice, being against his chest. He had been so warm…

“Hold me. Please.”

English stood, growling. “No. That is obscene!” he snapped.

“You can add a third fetish to the list.” The Handmaid said. She didn’t care if she would regret this later. She was damned cold and he was nice and warm.

She was getting in his god damned lap no matter what.

English growled and paced for a few moments before going to her side and scooping the female troll into his arms. He sat down on the bed, leaning back against the padded headboard. “No need. I’ll do it for the two, so you better make it worth while”

“I will.” the Handmaid mumbled, pressing her face into his muscular chest. She reached for the comforter, fumbling for a few moments before she pulled it over and up to her neck.

The demon shifted, uncomfortable with what was going on. His neck was flushed with his candy red blood. Why couldn’t he do this with out getting excited?

The Handmaid had never really been able to notice what he smelled like until now. Or what his skin felt like. She absently traced some of the dark veins that covered his chest, sighing heavily. She was already warming up nicely.

English was in a living hell. Why was his handmaid stroking him? Why? Did she want something? Did she want sex? Did she want him to be all tender and disgusting? 

What was really bothering him, however, was another feeling he had never felt before.

He wanted to mate her. Not like how he usually did. That was passionless and mechanical, though pleasurable. He wished to mate with her the way Cherubs did. He wanted to sink his teeth into her flesh and tear her skin with his claws.

English wanted to be passionate. A passionate that actually meant something to his twisted mind. He looked down at the troll, surprised she was looking at him.

“You are a bitch, girl.” he snapped, grabbing her jaw in his large hand. He yanked her face closer to his before he kissed her. His other hand hand quickly moved to grasp the back of her head, holding her in place as his black tongue slithered out.

“Stop it.” the Handmaid hissed out, doing her best to turn her face away from him, “Stitch said—”

“Shut up.” English snapped. His grip on the Handmaid’s jaw tightened, forcing her mouth open and allowing his tongue to dip inside. Her mouth was burning hot with her fever, her fists beating on his chest. The hand on the back of her head left it’s spot, sliding down and resting at the small of her back, pressing her body against his.

The Handmaid was convinced that this was a fever induced dream. English was way too into the kiss for it to be real. It was an interesting dream regardless. Pleasant even. She stopped hitting his chest, deciding just to go with it. She wrapped her arms around the back of his neck, her lips closing around his tongue and sucking.

English grunted, startled by the Handmaid’s sudden willingness. He tilted his head to the right, releasing her face in favor of stroking her jawline. What they were doing was disgusting, yet he didn’t give a damn. A low groan rumbled low in his throat as she suckled on his tongue. He regretfully pulled away, tugging on her dress. After a few good tugs the thread holding the buttons in place snapped, letting him pull the fabric away to reveal her collar.

Was it wrong of him to think she looked utterly delectable?

This was a very pleasant dream. The Handmaid pushed English’s coat off his shoulders, taking the time to look at his body. She ran her hands up and down his heavily muscled abdomen. She huffed as he popped her buttons, but it didn’t matter. It was all a dream. She undid a few more, freeing her breasts. She paused for a little bit, before grabbing the back of his head and pulling his face to her chest.

“I’m going to fuck you bitch.” English hissed, “And it will hurt. You will bleed. Do you get that? You will bleed until you are half dead.” His tone softened, playing with her hair. “I won’t let that happen to you though. I won’t let you die. Now show me your neck.”

The girl happily exposing her neck to him. Just how bad could it be if it was a dream? She moaned as he groped a breast, un-aware of his mouth opening, ready to sink his teeth into the vulnerable spot. 

English suddenly paused. Realizing he should pay attention to where his teeth sank into her flesh. After a brief examination of her slim, and delectable looking neck, English opened his jaws again. His fangs pressed against her skin lightly for a few seconds before he clamped down.

It was not a dream.

The Handmaid jerked, her eyes snapping open. she cried out, instantly going into a violent struggle. What was he doing? Never had he inflicted an injury like this. She screamed, her fingernails digging into the skin of his neck.

English was forced to let her neck go due to her struggling. He pushed her down onto the bed, holding both of her wrists in a single massive hand. “Stop that you ugly bitch. Don’t you get what I’m trying to do?! Now show me your neck!” He grabbed her hair and wrenched her head back, sinking his teeth into the nape of her neck.

“Please, what ever I did I’m sorry!” the Handmaid sobbed, burgundy blood flowing out of the large bite, “Please-” She was cut off as English punched her.

“I told you I wouldn’t let you die! Now let me show you that I-”

“The hell is this?!”

English jumped. He turned to Stitch, who looked utterly horrified. “What is it?! I’m busy!”

“What’re ya doin?!” Stitch yelled, grabbing English’s arm and managing to pull the massive cherub away from the sobbing troll, “I said no funny stuff! That’s not an invitation for you to eat her!”

“I was not eating her! I was-”

“Get out! Out now! She’ll bleed out!”

English snarled, but did as was said. Stitch shoved him out of the way, going over to the Handmaid and using the bed sheets stem the bleeding. With a last glance at the hysterical troll, he yanked the door open and stormed out.

Standing outside the door, his fists shaking; English rubbed his face, realizing how much he had let himself go. The handmaid wasn’t the only one who was sick. 

Unfortunately, what English had could not be fixed with bed rest. He punched the wall, furious that he could be so weak as to develop such feelings, feelings he knew he could never satisfy.

No, it was not human love, or even troll pity. It was the feelings that only a cherub could feel. A feeling that he didn’t even have a name for. That not even his sister could name.

It was a feeling who’s name had died long ago with the planet he had been born on.


End file.
